


Picking Up The Broken Pieces

by BelieveInLarry



Category: Larry Stylinson - Fandom, One Direction
Genre: Hario and Louigi, M/M, Recovery, Self Harm, larry stylinson - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 19:07:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/827794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelieveInLarry/pseuds/BelieveInLarry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Styles is in a car accident that results in the death of his mom. Feeling completely hopeless in life and depressed after the incident he resorts to self harm. When his old sister Gemma finds out what he's been doing to himself, she makes him sign up for therapy. Harry's sessions with his therapist Louis Tomlinson help him to recover and heal from all the emotional and mental scars he has, and end up changing his life, forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The sweet relief of self infliction

Harry hadn’t been the same since the car crash. He hadn't been that bright, smiling boy that he used to be. It had been six months since that car slammed into his and took the life of his beloved mother, saving only him and his older sister Gemma. He couldn't help but feel at blame for what had happened, being the one at the wheel he felt like he could’ve stopped it. Taking his sister and mother out to dinner that night had turned out to be a fatal mistake that haunted him every day, and kept him from sleeping at night. He felt like his soul had died along with his mother.

“No!” Harry cried out in his sleep, awakening himself. He jerked his slender body upright, sitting on his bed, eyes wide and racing around the room to remind himself it had only been a nightmare. He took a second to slow his heart rate, taking deep breaths in and out trying to calm himself. His night terrors had caused him to sweat so much it plastered his curly brown hay stack of hair to his forehead. Nightmares of that day had been a nightly occurrence, at least on the nights that he was able to get himself to sleep. 

Some nights he dreamed of the crash, his eyes noticing the car plundering towards them but a second too late, resulting in the fatal impact. Or sometimes he dreamed about the ambulance coming, carrying the only one who had been severely injured out of the car and onto a stretcher, his mom. Other nights he was forced to relive his last moments with her, of her telling him and his sister that he loved them one last time before her eyes closed forever. Of him and his sister screaming at the top of their lungs as the line on her cardiac monitor went flat. Of him begging the nurses to do something but knowing it was too late, knowing that she was gone. Of him and his sister bawling their eyes out into each other’s arms as they were forced to say goodbye to their mom’s lifeless body.

Tonight the nightmares had been exceptionally bad, them all playing together in his mind in one night, leading up to the last one that awoke him, where he shouted “no!” as the nurses carried her out of the room. When he calmed himself a bit and realized what was going on, he put his head in his bare knees and sobbed. 

Living alone had its perks, like when he shouted out in the night and there was nobody there to hear him, or when he let himself cry for hours on end and nobody knew. But right now he was scared, scared of what he’d do to himself. He wished his sister could be there to stop him, because he couldn’t handle the freedom that came along with being alone. 

He wiped his tears with his blanket and tried to stifle any more from coming out. He reached underneath his pillow and grabbed his shiny, silver blade, feeling the pain ease from his heart at the sight of it, the stream of tears flowing from his eyes starting to slow. He traced over the many scars and scabs covering his wrist with his finger, thinking the pattern they created was almost beautiful. He found one of the few empty spaces on the underside of his left arm, clean from scars and scabs, and dug the blade into it. He dragged it across the bottom of his wrist, slicing deeply into his soft and tender skin. 

As he watched the blood flow out, he stopped crying completely; feeling like the emptiness inside him had been filled, feeling completely at peace. When the high from the first cut was over he made another one, repeating the process until a total of six new wounds were added to his collection. 

After he had finished and tucked his blade underneath his pillow, he went to the bathroom to clean himself up. He washed the blood off in the sink, the water causing a familiar kind of pain that comforted Harry, the liquid turning an angry shade of red as it mixed with his blood and escaped down the drain. He wrapped his wrist up with some gauze and went back to his room, hoping the relief would allow him to get some rest. He laid down on his bed and wrapped himself in his blankets, taking only a few moments to drift off into a dreamless sleep.


	2. Getting caught

The next day Harry awoke at one pm to a text from his sister, Gemma. "I'll be there in twenty minutes, see you soon xx," it read. Fantastic, he had forgotten that they were supposed to have a lunch date today. He jumped out of bed and ran over to his dresser, picking out a soft sweater with thick gray and white stripes, a pair of tight black skinny jeans that left his legs gasping for air, a pair of plaid purple and black boxers, and a beanie whose color resembled the grey of the sky on a cloudy day. He carried his outfit to the bathroom and set it on the toilet seat, then proceeded to yank off his boxers, the only thing he had slept in. 

Next was the part he wasn't looking foward to, removing the bandages. He slowly peeled away the gauze that was unrecognizable to the original white color. He gritted his teeth as he gingerly broke the bond between the gauze and injured skin. He hopped in the shower and cringed as the hot water grazed his self inflicted wounds. 

His shower lasted about ten minutes. He hadn't wanted to shorten in any more because it was one of the few times he felt at peace in his day, feeling the warm water run down his soft skin, inhaling the vapors that seemed to clear his head. After he finished he jumped out and onto the bathroom mat, taking only a few seconds to dry off with his towel. He started off by putting on his boxers, followed by his jeans, almost falling as he tried pulling them up. He then threw on his sweater, having to struggle getting it over his head. This, of course, made his already messy hair even worse. He did his signature hair flip, getting his curly locks to fall right in place, and then added his beanie that was dampened by his wet hair. 

He went into his room, grabbed his wallet and put on some socks, ready just in time as he heard a knock on his apartment door, signaling that Gemma had arrived. He marched over to it and opened it greeting her, a large grin playing across his cheeks exposing his boyish dimples. "Hey Harry!" she exclaimed as the door opened, embracing him. It had been a few weeks since the last time they had seen each other which was a lot longer then either of them were used to. After their mom passed they had seen a lot less of each other. Harry couldn't handle living in a house so full of memories of when she was still alive, so he moved out and got his own apartment. Gemma kept the place because it was already payed off and she liked reminiscing, it comforted her and made her feel like her mom was still with her. 

"Hey!" He replied, sharing her enthusiasm. Being with Gemma was bittersweet, he loved her and her company and he felt that she was one of the few people who understood everything he'd been through. Although, along with the joy he felt from her visits there was some sadness. Seeing her reminded him of their mom and the dreadful day they lost her. 

After they had said their initial "hello's" they walked down the long, musty hallway and out of the complex. Harry hopped in the passenger side of her shiny, black jeep, not wanting to drive. Ever since that day he had been scared to get in a car at all, let alone be the one at the wheel. They drove several miles filling the silence with small talk of how they had been, what they'd been up to and things. Of course Harry didn't tell her the truth that he was completely depressed and had started hurting himself, he didn't want her to worry about him, so he just said he was well. 

Soon they arrived at TGI Friday's. It wasn't very busy considering it was around 2 pm on a Tuesday. They were seated within a matter of minutes at a small table with chairs facing each other. 

After they had ordered their drinks and lunch they chatted and waited for their food, rather impatiently because they were both very hungry. Harry rested his chin on his hand, the underside of his wrist facing towards Gemma. "Harry, what is that?" Gemma asked accusingly. His sleeve had fallen down leaving his self harm exposed for the world, and more importantly Gemma, to see. 

"What?" He questioned, not yet realizing what she had seen. "What did you do to your wrist?" She interrogated, looking at it closely. She was trying to keep her voice at a reasonable level but failing as the concern entered it. "Uh.. I don't.. I don't know," he muttered, pulling up his sleeve as if that would make her forget about it entirely. "You can't do that to yourself Harry! I thought you stopped.. I thought you were better now. You need help. You need to talk to someone. You have to sign up for therapy! This isn't healthy. Harry I'm worried about you!" The intensity and passion in her voice frightened him, she was never supposed to know. 

He thought he saw tears creep into the corners of her eyes but she blinked them back. He felt horrible seeing how upset he had made her so he agreed to sign up for therapy, although he didn't think he needed it. 

When their food came they had both lost their appetites. They took the food in a box and rode in the car in silence.


End file.
